


The Silk of Our Sheets

by cupofdaydream



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofdaydream/pseuds/cupofdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two-part series of Mai and Zuko's final moments together. Prompts "Protection" and "Time" from Maiko Month 2013. "The red silk holds almost his entire life beneath, his happiness, his love, all wrapped in crimson sheets."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Protection

 

**Chapter 1**

He'd seen how their skin withered and crinkled like paper, seen how the night of her hair faded into white. He can't remember the exact moment their bones began to creak like their house by the sea, or when her hands lost the ability to throw the blade; life had crept up on them.

She'd never wanted his protection—that was made very clear when they were young. And even now, she had still refused him.

"No, Zuko," she had consoled him after the physician advised them that it would be best, at this point, to make her comfortable. Angrily, he had dismissed the man and sent for the healer from the Southern Water Tribe. But she grasped the sleeve of his robe and shook her head. "It's time," she told him.

And so he dropped his hands and hung his head in defeat.

He sits by their bedside, watching as her chest rises and falls, her eyes closed in sleep. He does his best to imprint the outline of her body under the sheets into his mind. The red silk holds almost his entire life beneath: his happiness, his love, all wrapped in crimson sheets. And he cannot think of a reason why anyone wouldn't want to protect this.

But even if she had allowed him, no healers, no sword or shield could protect her from the hands of the clock. Zuko has never felt more helpless. He feels himself already beginning to mourn, unable to save himself from the emptiness creeping under the covers of their bed.

Mai breathes out a sigh.

And Zuko's chest aches as he closes his eyes, hanging on to the ghost of her voice.

He climbs in beside her, curling up next to her as he's done so many times before. The sheets are cold and he pulls her into his arms, keeping her warm. He inhales the scent of her hair –something that's never changed—like the blossoms of their apple tree. His hands travel to her wrists, the beating of her pulse his favorite melody and he lets it carry him away.

This weight in his arms is what makes him complete, anchoring him in place; he's not ready to drift with the tides and lose himself among unending sea—he never will be.

She shifts in his arms, ever so carefully turning towards him. Even after sixty years, he's never gotten used to the way her eyes flutter open, the dreamy haze disappearing as they focus on his. His breath catches in his throat every time.

"Zuko," his name is soft on her lips.

"Mai," he says, tracing the dimples of her cheeks with a knuckle. If there's one thing that time has given and not taken from him, it's the evidence that he's made her smile, framing their happiness over the years.

Her own hands reach up and wipe the tears collecting at his eyes and he holds her cold hand to his face.

"Wake up next to me every day," he whispers, and the words echo off his lips.

Mai graces him with a small smile, but it's sad and tired and it's not warm like it used to be. "If only I could," she tells him.

He pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her nose, to her forehead, and then a final one to her lips. She aches at the phantom of his touch.

And they fall asleep in one another's embrace.

 

 


	2. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here's the final part. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Warnings: implied infant death, implied character death, and lots of implied se

 

 

**MM Prompt 20: Time**

 

**Chapter 2: Time**

It began with a bed.

It's behind his locked door, her legs intertwined with his beneath the sheets, that Zuko realizes just how tangled up in Mai he's become. The first time around it isn't planned: one moment they're sitting lazily beside one another, and the next, one hand is on her breast, the other to the small of her back, and he's lowering her down into a red sea of silk and pillows. It's never premeditated, but the spontaneity of their escapades quickly becomes routine.

There's the time before he left—not the first but not the last—the night before the moon overtook the sun. And he fears that they'll never lose themselves to each other under the covers again, so he kisses her with urgency, and moves against her with longing; he imprints all that is Mai, desperate not to forget.

The next day he lays his farewell on to her bed; no evidence of his last gesture of love revealed on the neatly arranged pillows and tidied blankets.

The nights he spends alone leave him with an emptiness. The snoring and the heavy breathing of the others unnerves him and Zuko spends these nights yearning for her warm body next to his.

This same desperation drives him when his lips finally meet hers again. Their movements are clumsy, reminiscent of the first time, and their hands shake as they push aside fabric to meet the warm skin that they've only dreamt of for weeks. She's just as he remembered her: soft skin and sharp tongue, a sea of hair and the curve of her spine. They hold each other tight, thankful to be back in familiar arms.

Two parts become one. Her toothbrush rests next to his on the bathroom sink, and he catches himself accidentally slipping on her pair of slippers on groggy mornings. They fall back into their own routine.

There are fights—she hogs the bathroom, he has a nasty habit of waking her up too early, and sometimes he's gone for much too long—but no matter the cause, they always find themselves back where they started, tumbling into a red sea in a flurry of ardor and longing.

Under red silk sheets they make a pact: to share each sunrise, to hold, to love, they build a home from the blankets and pillows. The bed too big, they seek to fill the void, to create a heartbeat, a rhythm of their own.

But winter comes in white covers, the chill of their bed one part tragedy, and two parts misery. They lay in cold, they lay in silence, they bury themselves in snow-capped covers to freeze their insides, the parts that hurt. The snow stays seven days, but winter lasts much longer, despite the familiar bloom of red that drapes their bed.

Winter is slow to end, but spring slowly warms the frozen ground, melting the ice that has settled in tired hearts. A baby girl nestles between them. Her hair grows every which way, like tufts of grass, the whistle of her breathing like an April breeze.

Children grow, strong hands age, flowers bloom and flowers die. With each passing sunrise and sunset, at the end of the day they still return to the same sheets, the same embrace, the same warmth. They've memorized each other. Every dip and every curve imprinted into the mattress and etched into their minds. To the sheets they escape during meeting breaks, stealing a moment or two just for themselves. Their bed is a haven where they sail away in dreams, and drown their sorrows in tender touches.

Like the sun they burn for what seems like an eternity. Until the light flickers out.

And now he lies awake under the morning sun. Alone, in a bed made for two.

He does nothing to stop the winter from sweeping through the silk of their sheets: one part solace, and the other part despair. Zuko lies shivering under blankets that cannot be warmed, a bed that cannot be filled.

It's not like the times he went away, or the months they tried to stay apart. It's an eternal night of mornings spent alone, empty arms and empty sheets. He welcomes the night where he travels back into her outstretched arms, where her smile warms his chest, where he whispers all that he loves, all that he longs for into the shell of her ear. He kisses soft lips and intertwines graceful fingers with his own. Here, he won't ever let go—until he's torn away by the rising sun. And as daylight breaks through his bedroom window, he's only reminded of his light lost.

Zuko rises, his body heavy, eyes swollen, his mind numb from the hours of aching and the aching still to come. A ghost, he wanders out of the room they shared for nearly sixty years, ignoring the lone cup of tea one of the servants has set out. The sunlight casts an orange glow on to sheets unkempt, faded red, the mattress dips where two bodies used to lie. A hollow room that faded with Mai.

It ends with a bed.

 

**—FIN—**


End file.
